Skyrim Temeraire Xover
by CasualTryHard
Summary: What would happen if dragons (and humans) from the Temeraire Universe came to Skyrim? When the Dovahkiin opened the Time Wound with the Elder Scroll a few beings from a distance Plane of Oblivion called Earth fell through the gap. This is a work in progress but by the end I hope to have dialog between Temeraire, Iskierka, Dovahkiin, Laurence, Granby, Alduin, Paarthurnax, & others
1. Chapter 1

Atop the Throat of the World – Skyrim

"You have it, the Elder Scroll, _Tiid kreh... qalos_ ," said the large scaled head, peering down at him. The Dragonborn loosened his hand that had involuntarily grasped his sword hilt and smiled up at Paarthurnax. It had been quite a surprise meeting the leader of the graybeards for the first time, and he had not gotten use to the idea of a dragon as an ally. Likely he never would, he had killed to many of them and would likely continue to – not exactly a good relationship builder.

He would just have to pretend that being within biting distance of one without his shield up didn't bother him. Paarthurnax for his own part, if he had noticed the Dovahkiin's unease, didn't stir and only sat sitting upon the word wall.

"So, how was your journey to find The _Kel_?" the dragon asked.

"Errr, fine, I suppose," Dovahkiin said, a little puzzled. In the brief time that he had known the ancient dragon he hadn't taken him as one for small talk. Just the opposite in fact. Everything about Paarthurnax seemed meticulous, as if you needed to choose your words carefully. Not out of fear – for he was arrogantly sure that he could take the old dragon – but more out of respect, as if he really was dovah and he needed to defer to his elders. It was clearly not the place for the sort of conversation that he has with drunkards in the local tavern.

Sensing that the dragon was waiting for elaboration he continued. "After some research at the College I managed to track it down to some Dwemer ruins. By the way, I hate Dwemer ruins so it was not fun for me; just wanted to let you know. After killing all the dwarven machines guarding the place I unlocked the most bizarre vault I had ever seen that held the Scroll."

"Then," he added, thinking this was a good time to bring up a problem he had been having about this whole arrangement, "I traveled across all of Skyrim and climbed back up this mountain, again – right after I had climbed down it after talking to you."

Forget being respectful, he was tired of walking. If Paarthurnax was going to have him fetching stuff all over Skyrim the least he could to do was fly him there. He didn't think it was so beneath the dragon's status to care someone on his back, least of all a Dragonborn.

"Hmmm," said Paarthurnax, only seeming to be half listening. "Well I'm glad it was successful, if a little disappointing for you. I wish there was time to rest but Alduin must be stopped as quickly as possible."

Annoyed that the dragon had missed the point he asked, "Then, if you don't mind me asking, why are you asking me about my journey if time is short? It just seems unlike you."

"Well, in the one meeting we've had you already know the way I talk?" the dragon answered back chuckling. "But no," he continued, growing solemn, "I confess that I am buying time, delaying what must be done. What we are about to do is dangerous, some would even say wrong. We are using the weakness of Time here to our advantage. A wound that was created once we are tearing open again. Who knows what adverse consequences that will cause? And whenever an Elder Scroll is involved, well, I just hope we don't accidently open the Oblivion Gates again."

"Could that really happen?" Dovahkiin asked, a little nervous now. "Not likely" the dragon replied, a little more casually now, "though more than likely some strange events will occur. The Scrolls don't just affect what's around them but all of Everything too. Oblivion will hear us today. I will count it lucky if only a few dadra are moved around."

He wanted to say that 'a few dadra moved around' was a big enough event but instead said, "Well, if we are going to do this then lets do it. What do I need to do?"

"Quite simple really," the dragon said. "Take the Scroll to the Time Wound and read it. You will be sent back to when the wound was made, the time when the ancient Nords banished Aludin with the Scroll. Watch what happened and learn the Dragonrend from them."

"And what will happen to me? Will I be able to move, or be hurt?"

"I don't know. More than likely you can't be hurt, since you are not really there. But, again, who really knows with the Scrolls? Actually," Paarthurnax said, suddenly with excitement, "make an effort to remember every feeling you have, any presences you sense or powers you feel. Don't let it get in the way of your mission, but just take note of it. Afterwards you can tell me about it. I have never, and hopefully will never, use an Elder Scroll and it would be great knowledge to know what it feels like."

Dovahkiin, now realizing that he was an experiment, began to walk to the Time Wound. He looked down at the Scroll in his hands. It's cream colored shell was carved with intriguing patterns. Just by looking at it you could tell it was important even without knowing what it truly was. That it was a fragment left over from creation, a piece of Time itself. But right now, looking at the thing in his hands he could hardly believe it. To him it was only a scroll. There was no energy coming off of it, no voices whispering to him, it didn't even feel unusually heavy or light. How could such a little, seemingly ordinary thing have so much potential? So much unknown? Even Paarthurnax didn't really know what would happen when he read this thing. For the first time since his near death experience in Helgen he was unsure if he would make it. He wasn't fighting bandits, interfering in local politics with monarchs, or even killing dragons. He was playing with fire, a fire he could never control.

He sighed, his breath coming out mist in the cold air. He looked back where the dragon was sitting, watching him from the edge of the mountain, its own breath visible against the dark sky, and beyond that all of Skyrim stretched out beneath them. With the Nordic snow swirling around him, the Dragonborn opened the Scroll.

At first he relied only on what his eyes told him. The sheet of paper was transparent; on it appeared what seemed to be a map of the stars. Then the stars, and the lines connecting them began to glow, quickly becoming so bright as to hurt his eyes, yet he could not look away. It seem a force was pulling him away, which direction he could not tell. The stars, their images now burned into his vision, leaped off the page and begin to fly past him. Or was he flying past them? He tried to look down at the ground, but there was nothing below him. Fearful he tried to close the Scroll, but he realized he was no longer holding it. In fact, he didn't even seem to be there. No mater the way he looked he couldn't see anything, except the stars flying past him. He couldn't even see his own body, or feel it for that mater. He tried to bring his hand up to his face but couldn't. He fought the urge to scream and just held on, hoping he had not doomed himself to this prison without bars. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the stars vanished, and he fell into cold darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

A plane of Oblivion named Earth – English Chanel 1810

"No no NO!" Temeraire snapped, finally losing his cool. He had enough, beyond enough, of Iskierka. He had listened to her for the last several weeks while they were on campaign, and now when he finally thought he could be free of her, and the rest of the troubles on his mind, she was agonizing him like in improperly healed bullet wound.

Normally he hated patrol duty, but after the constant battle of the last few weeks and the new problems of the government wanting to transport them, some alone time just flying over the empty English Chanel might do his mind some good. Alone that is, except for Laurence.

He took a quick look up on his back where Laurence sat at the base of his neck. How close he had come to losing Laurence, again, and how he knew he needed to take better care of him. But it was hard. It seemed everyone wanted to kill him: the French, the English, the cold air. Temeraire had taken care of the third killer, Laurence was presently bundled up in fur and leather riding clothing, despite his protests of it not being that cold of a morning.

But as for the other two Temeraire was not so sure. He had always thought he would be enough protection for Laurence, after all, he was a twenty ton dragon. And not only any dragon but also a Celestial – one of the rarest and (in his opinion) the best breeds of dragons in the world.

If an enemy dragon tried to hurt Laurence, Temeraire was pretty sure he could defeat any dragon in the world, and if he couldn't then he could call upon his friends to help, and then they could take on any enemy. And if a human wanted to hurt Laurence, well, good luck with that. Temeraire might just as easy step on them without much fuss on his own part.

But the last couple of weeks had worn away that assured confidence in his own ability to protect Laurence. If Laurence was standing next to him and someone else came at him, then Temeraire would have no trouble stopping them. But if they came at him some time when they were separated, then what? Temeraire sometimes regretted being so big, else he could always be next to Laurence.

And of course dragons are usually not the issue. If Laurence had to fight a dragon then it would naturally be in a place that Temeraire could reach him. No, the problem came from other humans. And they are often as not his superior officers, or men of rank, humans that Temeraire wasn't "allowed" to kill, even if they were threatening to kill Laurence, or throw him in jail, or take away his rank and capital. Ironically, it wasn't enemy dragons or hidden assassins that were the greatest threat to Laurence, it was some little human, standing right in front of him – one that Temeraire could have easily flicked away with a single talon – that was speaking in such rude and aggressive ways.

It wasn't Laurence's bravery that was in question, Temeraire quickly appended to his mind's speech to itself. Laurence was one of the bravest humans he knew, and it was that bravery that often got him into trouble, usually in some hallway or somewhere else that Temeraire could not easily reach into.

But brave or not, Laurence was still a human. And the strongest human was still weaker than the smallest dragon. If only Laurence could somehow have the strength of a dragon, but still be human. That would be wonderful! Temeraire could feel much more at ease, knowing that if Laurence did go off on his own the he could take care of himself, at least until Temeraire could show up and properly deal with the problem.

He wondered how that would work? Would he still look like a man but be really strong? Or could he have some offensive capabilities, like Iskierka's fire breath or Temeraire's own divine wind. Temeraire was quite willing to spend the rest of the patrol daydreaming about it, but then Iskierka spoke up again.

"You are acting like you actually have to give something up or do something particularly hard" she said, breaking into his thoughts.

When they had been given orders to fly the Chanel, and to take Iskierka along, Temeraire had suggested at the beginning of the patrol that they might fly further apart "to cover more ground and see a bit farther". It had just been an excuse not to talk with her and she had seen right through it, and promptly flew right next to him so she could annoy him on what could have been a pleasant, relaxing flight.

"I am only asking for an egg from you" she continued, "and I think I have made my points quite clear. You have to do nothing except spend maybe five minutes with me. Then you can go off and I will deal with the egg. Then when it hatches we can see if the baby will have both fire breath AND the divine wind! You do nothing and you get to sire possibly the best dragon in the world."

"You are forgetting the part about YOU being the most annoying and disagreeable dragon in the world. I helped capture your egg, I protected you from Bonaparte's army when you were just a hatchling, I have saved England – several times – and all you have done is hunt enemy ships for prize money and annoy me. I don't want any thanks, but constant irritation is certainly not what I was looking for either! Now I said no, and I mean NO!"

This last comment he punctuated with the divine wind so that the words carried on like a roll of thunder. He wasn't aiming at her when he said this, nor did he put his full voice behind it, but she still involuntarily flinched away from him. While the name "divine wind" sounded poetic and seemed like it belonged in a Chinese fairytale, in actuality it was as real and deadly as a navy ship's broadside. While some dragons had offensive capabilities, such as fire breath or acid spitting, Celestials had the divine wind. Temeraire could breathe in copious amounts of air and expend it all out in a rush of wind, one that could sweep away and crush anything in its way.

"Well," Iskierka continued, getting over her temporary unease, "while I would disagree with you that I am annoying and would instead say that you are rather stiff backed and oversensitive about such things, I would rather point out that you still haven't given a valid reason why you wouldn't want to make an egg. My own temperament has no baring on the actual mating process, nor taking care of the egg afterwards."

Temeraire, almost wishing that he could claw her – nothing permanent, just something to get her to be quiet – was about to send back his own remark when Laurence spoke up from his back. "Pray stop troubling yourself," he said quietly so she couldn't hear. "She can't make you do anything you don't want to do, so there is really no reason getting upset."

"Yes, but she will still annoy us even if I don't talk to her, so there is no point either way. And if I don't argue with her it will feel like I ran away from a battle," he replied.

"But," Laurence said, "If it's an unwinnable battle, then it might be better to retreat. And besides, no one is keeping score. I'm not, I hope your not, and I'm sure Granby is not."

Temeraire looked back at her and saw Granby standing up on her back, talking to her, hopefully telling her to be quiet. He smiled, knowing that if anyone could silence her it would be her captain. Normally Temeraire disliked the idea of captains. Not that he minded Laurence in the slightest, or almost any other captain of the Arial Corps, but he dislike the idea that a dragon _had_ to have a captain to behave. He had known plenty of dragons that didn't have captains and were perfectly agreeable creatures. It was the ridiculousness of Government and the fear of humans who didn't understand dragons that continued the belief that a dragon _needed_ a human to act well. Instead Temeraire liked the way they did it in China, where dragons and humans were companions.

But in this case he was glad of the supposed authority that Granby had over her. He contemplated flying closer to hear what Granby had to say to her. But before he could make up his mind he heard the strangest sound. It almost sounded like it came from above them, though glancing up showed only empty sky. If sounded like a roll of thunder, but inside the tremor Temeraire could almost make out words. Not words in any language he recognized, but even without understanding the words had meaning, had power. They rippled over him, sending shiveres down his spine, and for the briefest of instances he saw something. It was as if he was looking through someone else's eyes.

It was a blurry vision, obscured as if a great distance was between him and the source. He could see snow swirling around him, and before him hovered a great, black dragon. He was look up at it, loaming so large that it filled his vision. Temeraire was scared, for he had never seen something so much larger than him. He was a heavyweight, so even larger dragons were only a few tons bigger and you could hardly tell the difference. Certainly he had never had to crane his head up to look at one, or to be worried about it standing on him. Is this what humans felt when they looked up at him?

And then suddenly he understood, for he could not only just see, but also feel. He was looking through someone else's eyes, and that someone else was a human. Temeraire could feel the human's whole body, as if it was his own. He felt his (for it was a man) arms, legs, hands – human hands!

He didn't have time to even begin to wonder what was happening. The black dragon was diving down towards three people on the ground. But this was only a fleeting glance, as Temeraire's thoughts fell into inky blackness and he knew no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Atop the Throat of the World – Skyrim (Merethic Era)

Light began to enter his eyes, cutting through the darkness. The feeling in his body began to return, but in a sluggish way. He could feel his body, as well as the armor covering it, but couldn't feel anything else. Not ground beneath him or the cold of the snow swirling about. It was as if he was here but also not here. He looked around. Although he could see again the edges of his vision were blurry and red, and the star chart from the Elder Scroll was still faintly burned into his eyes. Beyond that he could make out the snow and stone of the mountain he had just left. He was still on the Throat of the World.

How long had he been out? It seemed a matter of minutes, but something inside him said it had been years, hundreds of years. Had he been in the darkness that long?

He heard the roar of a dragon and looked up, expecting to see Paarthurnax. But it was another dragon and definitely not friendly. He tried to reach behind him to draw his bow, but his arms felt as if they were weighed down with iron. There was no way he would get it up in time. But the beast wasn't aiming for him, in fact it completely ignored him as it flew over and landing in front of someone else, a man standing in the snow.

"Gormlaith!" the man shouted," We're running out of time! The battle..."

But his words were drowned out by the dragon's taunting jeer. It released a tongue of flame at him just as a woman rushed towards it.

With a flurry of movement the man avoided the dragon's fire breath, distracting it while Gormaith, as her name must be, jumped on its head and drove a massive ax into its skull. It screamed and lay still.

With that excitement over Dovahkiin looked around, and realized with was not the first dragon slain today. The corpse of several other dragons lay in the snow, all with scales covering their bones. Clearly none of them were Dragonborn, less they would have taken their souls and only skeletons would remain.

The woman had jumped off her kill and joined the man on the ground. The two ancient Nords walked past the bodies talking of their feats. A third man meet them, some sort of mage by the looks of him, and began they began to talk.

"Why does Alduin hang back?" the first man asked, "We've staked everything on this plan of yours, old man."

The mage replied, "He will come. He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well. Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day." Gormlaith added.

"But," the mage replied, now sullen, "none have yet stood against Alduin himself. Galthor, Sorri, Birkir..."

"They did not have Dragonrend, Felldir." Gormlaith interjected, "Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head."

"You do not understand. Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll."

At this Felldir reached into his robes and pulled out an Elder Scroll, the Elder Scroll that thousands of years later he will used to watch this scene. The revealing provoked alarm from Feldir's companions. But their discussion was cut short as a shadow passed over them. In a floury of snow and cursing in Dovahzul, the World Eater landed before them.

The three responded with their own words, shouting out the words of Dragonrend. The words washed over the black dragon, filling its mind and body with the taste of mortality. At the same time the words reached the Dovahkiin, at once hearing and understanding the meaning behind the words. His heart beat faster with the twisted words, ones that filled him with dread as if his dragon part was hissing its denial. Then something strange happened. The scroll in his hand suddenly became unbearably heavy. The landscape blurred as if the universe itself was shuddering from the culmination of events: The elder scroll, Dragonrend, time travel, the World Eater and the Last Dragonborn, all clashing on this small plot of dirt and time. His body and eyes became heavy with fatigue even as his mind raced with a sudden presence.

He did know who, or what it was. It was suddenly upon him, invading his thoughts. He reached out and felt an only a massively large, alien mind. "Who are you?" he asked his mind's company, hoping to receive a friendly reply. Was it a dradric prince, or one of their servants, or was it something else entirely? What horror from Oblivion had he awoken with this misuse of Time? But instead of answering the creature vanished as quickly as it came. The world came rushing back to him. Before him the three Nords were clashing with Alduin. The dragon reached down and sized the woman in his jaws and threw her aside, blood streaming from her broken body.

"No, damn you!" the man shouted, "It's no use! Use the Scroll, Felldir! Now!"

Felidir jumps back from the melee and unrolls the scroll. "Begone, World-Eater!" he shouts, "By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"

With a surprised grunt from the black dragon a portal opens up, dragging the world eater within. _"Faal Kel...?! Nikriinne!"_ he screams before falling into the flow of Time.

As the portal closes the Dovahkiin feels the directionless pull once again. Blackness covers him as he following Alduin back to the present.


	4. Chapter 4

In the Void beyond Oblivion

Cold.

Not the bone chilling cold of the Turkish mountains that Temeraire flew over on their journey back from China, nor the damp, icy sting of a snowy British morning. It wasn't so much that he felt cold; rather that he couldn't feel anything, only emptiness around him. This cold was an unnatural cold, it had neither source nor end, it had no form yet it was all-around him, even inside of him.

It was a cold not of this world.

The realization came to him slowly, as if the cold had entered into his very thoughts, making him feel drowsy and foggy. He tried to open his eyes, to see where he was; yet they refused to open. He focused on his eyelids, willing every part of his mind to force them open, and with a start he realized they were open. Yet he still could not see. Nothing, not a glimmer of starlight or flicker of torchlight. Even night on a stormy day there was some sort of light, nothing one could use to see with but one at least had the sense that there was light somewhere. Which could only mean that he was inside some sort of enclosure.

But that didn't make since either, if he were inside he would be able to feel the floor. Yet there was nothing, not even a movement of air as he reached out in every direction to feel something…anything! He wasn't touching anything, but he wasn't falling or flying either. It was as if he was just floating. He flapped his wings, one reason to try and move but also just to feel a rush of air. Nothing. No feeling of movement and no rush of air. There wasn't even the leathery snap that his wings normally made. He tried again, and again after that. He flapped his wings until he was quite sure he would be tired if was actually flying. Yet he couldn't even have the sensation of feeling tired.

He tried to think back, to before this had happened. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, besides that curious noise and that strange vision, yet that could hardly have anything to do with his present circumstances. It had been a completely clear day, with Iskierka annoying him to no end, and he was sure that there had been no enemy dragons in sight. Then again, even if their had been, it's not like French dragons could send him to this strange place. And then, with mounting horror, he realized that he might be dead.

It had happened before. Temeraire remembered hearing stories of people for no reason what so ever simply dropping dead. He hadn't ever heard of a dragon dying for no reason, in the middle of flight on a warm sunny day, but that's not to say that it couldn't happen.

With that dreadful thought in his mind he went back to his attempt at fly with renewed vigor, with no results. In anger he reached out to bite his foreleg, just to feel anything, even pain. His teeth grasped at empty air, yet he was sure that he had moved his arm into the path of his mouth. He tried again, but like the wings it was if his arm wasn't even there. Suddenly, he realized that was true. His arm wasn't there. He tried to flex his muscles, but there was no feeling from his arm. He tried to close his wing, to feel the skin membrane rest against his side. Yet, while he certainly told the wing to move, he didn't actually feel with wing brush against him. To be honest he didn't actually feel any of his body. In desperation he move his tongue and clamped down on it with his teeth. But again he didn't feel anything, not pain from his tongue nor the sensation of his teeth sinking into flesh.

Now he truly began to panic. Not only could he not see or touch, but now he couldn't even feel his on body. It was if just his thoughts were floating in the emptiness of space.

He was dead, he knew it. But why was he here? Laurence had often talked about God and Heaven, but Temeraire was pretty sure this is not what Heaven looked like. Now he wished he had paid more attention. The stories Laurence had read from the Bible were interesting, yet Temeraire never really understood the religious side of it.

Now it looked like Temeraire was paying for his indifference with his soul, for Laurence had also talked of Hell, where those that don't "ask Jesus to forgive them of their sins" – as Laurence had put it – went. But he had always described it as a fiery lake, where – at least in Temeraire's own mind – a dozen Iskierkas were adding to the inferno with their own breaths, stopping ever now and again to annoy someone or tell some ridiculous story that no one really wanted to hear.

That he though he could handle, himself being a dragon, though to be perfectly honest he had thought that when he had died he would go to Heaven with Laurence. Not this though, not this inky black, cold, infinite void where he couldn't even feel his own body. This was a far worse Hell than he could have ever thought up. He would even prefer to be set on fire, just to feel anything. Strangely he could not even remember what fire felt like, or cold (real cold, not this unearthly cold), or touch, or any feeling at all. It was as if he had been floating here for years, or maybe only a few seconds. The cold was creeping even further into his mind, confusing him. The cold was getting colder.

It was getting tiresome to think, not tired like the satisfying tired of a long patrol but as if the life was slowly draining from his mind. Patrol? Patrolling what, and for whom? He had a distinct memory of water, of a great river that bordered two rival countries, and of him soaring above it. Soaring? He couldn't fly; humans couldn't fly. But he wasn't human was he. He was…was…a dragon! Yes, a dragon! So why did he keep remembering interaction between humans, of himself acting like a human? And dragons killed humans, didn't they? Then who was Laurence, the human that road on his back? Or was that another fantasy too? Oh, why must it be so cold?

He had to think! He had to remember or he would go insane out here in this cold void. But what did it matter? If he was going to float he for eternity then he would eventually go insane.

He had a really dismal thought: if he somehow got his physical form back but his mind was gone he would be quite a dangerous animal. If he somehow got back to earth he may end up killing a lot of people.

He sighed, and let the cold take him.


	5. Chapter 5

Atop the Throat of the World – Skyrim

Light began to enter his eyes, and with it a rush of feeling. Again he could feel cold and the firm ground beneath him. It felt good to once again move his arms and…

"Dovahkiin! Look out!" a voice shouted. He turned, and just barely dived out of the way of a blast of fire, the heat reminding him what it was like to feel. He picked himself up and, there before him, was Alduin. Though he had seen him in Helgen – ironically, he just realized, that the dragon had saved his life – he took another look at the world eater. He hadn't changed much in the thousands of years. The same black scales, the same hulking presences, the same hatred and malice in his eyes.

 _"Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor."_ Alduin snarled, "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

Yep, he hadn't changed at all.

 _"Lost funt._ You are too late, Alduin!" the voice said again. He turned and saw Paarthurnax hovering a few feet away. It looked like he returned just as Alduin showed up.

"Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend if you know it!"

"My pleasure," he said and spit the cursed words of Dragonrend out towards Alduin. Once again his own dragon shrank back from the words. Even Paarthurnax, who wasn't even in the words' path, flinched. But the little discomfort that they felt was nothing compared to the convolution that Alduin did.

The dragon slammed into the ground writhing and gasping, then dragged his head up to look at him. "My teeth to your neck, Dovahkiin!" Alduin coughed out, and then used a shout of his own. Suddenly the sky above them grew red, the clouds swirling together unnaturally. With the crack of thunder fire began raining down upon them in large chucks, exploding when they hit the ground. He was thrown back when one hit near him, luckily the snow extinguished his cloak that had been lit. He looked up and shouted Clear Skies towards the evil storm. The air responded immediately, the red clouds blowing away and replaced by blue sky.

But it had provided the distraction Alduin needed. By now the dragon had recovered and rushed towards him, looking to make good on the promise of teeth to neck.

"No!" Paarthurnax shouted and jumped on Alduin before he could reach him. Alduin turned on him and the two began tearing into one another, becoming a hissing tangled ball of teeth and claws. They rolled around, the air filled with the sounds of their struggle and the white snow becoming stained with dragon blood. At last Paarthurnax heaved off his older brother and took to the sky. Alduin tried to follow but his wings were evidently still weighed down with the curse and he couldn't get off the ground.

In frustration Alduin tried to spray fire at Paarthurnax but was cut short by an arrow embedding itself in the side of his head.

This was what Dovahkiin was use to. He had killed plenty of dragons and this was no different. In fact, he told himself as he loosed another arrow at the black dragon, it was easier. He had a new shout and a dragon ally in this fight, and Alduin bled like any other dragon as evidenced by the crimson snow.

"Dovahkiin, you call yourself? Arrogant mortal!"

Alduin rushed him once again and this time connected, shredding his coat and cutting flesh. Now all three of their bloods were on the ground. But it was a small price to pay for the opening. As Alduin tried to pull away he pulled his sword from its scabbard, plunged it into the scales covering the dragon's chest, and then pulled it out to strike the open jaws that were plunging towards him. Alduin roared and backed away limping, only to be flattened as Paarthurnax landed on his back and began making deep gashes in his flank.

Alduin turned and tried to snap but Paarthurnax had already lifted away, and once again Dovahkiin used the distraction to rush forward and add to Paarthurnax's cuts with his sword. Alduin knocked him away with his wing but the damage was already done. The black dragon stood there panting, blood streaming from his sides and mouth.

 _"Meyz mul,_ Dovahkiin. You have become strong. But I am Alduin, Firstborn of Akatosh! Mulaagi zok lot! I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else!" He looked at Paarthurnax hovering close by when he said this. He then turned back to the Dragonborn. "You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you... mortal!"

With that he flung himself off the mountain and flew away. Dovahkiin tried to shout Dragonrend after him to bring him down but the distance was already too great.

"Well?!" he said turning to Paarthurnax, "are you going to go after him?" But the old dragon slumped to the ground, blood seeping from his own substantial wounds. "There is a reason Alduin was lord," Paarthurnax sighed to himself, "No Dovahkiin, I cannot go after him. But today we have won a victory."

"But where did he go? We need to find him!" he shouted back. Paarhurnax was clearly in no shape to fight but that didn't mean he couldn't run after Alduin and finish the fight.

"One of his allies could tell us, but it will not be so easy to convince one of them to betray him." the dragon said flatly. "Perhaps the palace in Whiterun – Dragonsreach – that old prison that was built to hold a captured dovah. A fine place to capture one of Alduin's loyals."

"I doubt the Jarl will agree with you."

Paarthurnax glanced at him, the pain lessening in his eyes as he laughed. "I think you can convince him. You just convinced the Devourer of the World to run away, is one human too much for you?"

On his way down the mountain to talk with the Jarl of Whiterun he suddenly remembered the presence he had felt in the past. He half turned to go back but decided against it. He had gone up and down this mountain way too many times and besides, the feeling was probably nothing. Certainly it wouldn't help defeat Alduin. He could tell Paarthurnax about it later.


	6. Chapter 6

Eastmarch Hold near City of Windhelm – Skyrim

Cold.

Not the terror stricken nothingness cold but real cold, cold like snow. In fact it was snow.

Temeraire threw his head back, scattering the snow bank that had been covering his head. He breathed in deeply, relishing the icy sting of cold air in his lungs. Oh how he never wanted to go back to that nightmarish place again. He looked up and saw the sky and the sun, the wonderful light of the sun! He will go flying at once! But first, he realized, he would need to dig himself out. Somehow he was completely covered in snow, his entire body was under an undisturbed blanket of white. How long had he been there to have so much pile up on him? A better question would be what strange place was he in that had so much snow that it could cover an entire dragon. Only once was he completely covered by snow and that was the result of an avalanche.

He suddenly became aware of labored breathing behind him. He turned his head and saw three people standing in the snow, large axes grasped in their shaking hands, chain mail covering their bodies, and across their chests emblazoned on blue cloth was a picture of a bear.

/

/

Andria was tired of snow, and even more tired of walking through it. This was a strange thing for a Nord to think, considering she had grown up near Windhelm where even during summer it seemed there was a chance of snow. It would seem she would have grown use to it. In truth she had, everyone had to when they lived in Skyrim, but her past life and her present life seemed like two different eras. Once she had just been a farm girl. It had been hard work, and cold with the snow, but it had been a simple and fulfilling life.

Now she was a soldier. It had pained her father when she announced that she was joining the Stormcloaks to fight the Empire and the Dominion. But with how close they lived to Windhelm, the Stormcloak's capital city, it was all but demanded that anyone who could lift a sword would join and defend Skyrim. Her brother, Gladrier, had already left months ago and it burned her that he could have all the glory to himself. He already thought he was better than her, just because she was a girl, and if he came back a war hero then she would always be living in his shadow. Even her father, who with less effort released Gladrier to the civil war, though that war was too much for a woman. Really, as he latter admitted, he just didn't want to loose his little girl to a premature death. She didn't really understand why it was ok to loose Gladrier to a premature death. Eventually she was able to convince her father, who couldn't go himself on account of missing one of his arms, that she need to go. He relented, and that same day she marched into Whiterun and announced she wanted to join.

All that they told was of glorious battles and hoards of treasure to be gained once victory was achieved. So far she had seen none of it, neither war nor gold. All she had done was stand guard duty on the freezing outer wall and patrol through the freezing snow around the city. She was tired of snow.

"Oy, keep up shield bearer!" Slathous shouted ahead. Her two patrol companions, if they could be called such, were rude and arrogant older guardsman. She had had to put up with them making fun of her gender at first. After they had figured out that just because she was a girl she wouldn't shy away from cold patrols they made up new insults. Now they called her useless, as if she would be no good in battle. In reality she would be better than these two old men. In fact the only reason she wasn't on the front lines – at least in her mind – was because she was a girl. All she needed to do was prove herself and they would send her up. Hopefully on this patrol they would encounter an imperial skirmisher group. Until then she would just have to put up with them calling her shield carrier – which was a rather ridiculous name since none of them used shields.

Garver, the third member laughed at the insult, obviously not finding it funny but just trying to give the remark credit. "Yah, if your gonna keep slowing us down why don't you just head back and we'll finish the march" he added chuckling. "Not like you could really help much. In fact if we got into a fight we'll probable have to…"

But whatever insult to her honor Garver was going to say was cut off by the sudden eruption of snow.

"What in Obl…" Andria tried to shout before she was covered. She pulled herself up gasping, then jumped to her feet, ax in hand, looking for targets.

Garver and Slathous also jumped to their feet and looked past her, their faces suddenly filling with fear. They were on the slope of a hill and the two men were farther down the slope. She turned to look up at the crest of the hill, and understood their fear.

Rising out of the top of the hill shaking snow from its hide was an impossibly large, black head. The head nearly as wide as a cow's body, and much longer in length. Its surface was a smooth layer of black scales. A ridge of fin like spines started at its snout and traveled up its face, dividing the head into two halves and continuing down the back of its neck until it disappeared beneath the snow. A strange tendril grew from each side of the creature's snout and hung down over its mouth, as if it had a long drooping mustache. But it chief feature was the several horns that grew from the back of its head. Not like goat horns that were often brown and gnarled, but were instead nearly perfectly straight, longer than a spear, and pitch black. Thick membrane stretched from each horn and connected it to the one next to it, giving it the appearance of a crown.

At first she thought it must be a dragon but she discounted it the moment it entered her mind. She had heard stories of dragons from the other guards, some had even fought them. But not even the wildest exaggerate could for account for a head – and a body to go with it buried within the snow – of this size. No, a dragon could be killed. But this thing before them, their only hope was to back away and hope it didn't see them. Garver and Slathous seemed to have come to the same conclusion, but instead of moving they were rooted in place, staring open mouthed and terrified.

But it didn't mater. The creature seemed to sense them and turned its head. It eyes, the size of dinner platters and a deep blue, gazed down at them, the black reptilian iris filling her gaze. Even as she stood, almost in a trace looking into that infinite black she gripped her ax. There was no way she could run from that thing. There was also no way she could kill it. But if she was going to die then she would die like a Nord.

She waited, trying to decide whether to rush forward in a glorious suicidal charge or to wait for it to reach down to bite her, opening it's soft mouth to her ax before she was ultimately killed. But before she could make up her mind the beast spoke.

"Oh, I am terribly sorry for startling you!" it said in the strangest but crispest accent she had ever heard. It sounded a lot like the mages at the castle, but even more polished.

All she could do was stand there dumbfounded, staring up at it.

"I didn't mean to jump up like that," it continued "I just woke up from, well I don't really know how to describe it, but in short I was quite ready to be out of the snow. By the way you are looking at me I guess you are not part of the Arial Corps and not use to seeing dragons. Let me put you at ease. I am not going to hurt you. Really, there is no reason to be afraid."

Ever time it spoke it opened its mouth to reveal rows of glistening teeth, each one longer than a dagger. Yet the words and the tone it used made it seem like it was offering her an invitation to tea with sweatrolls. She didn't know what to say.

"What…are…you?" She breathed out slowly.

"Well," it said, now sounding puzzled. "I am a dragon. Surely you know a dragon when you see one. My name is Temeraire and I am pleased to make your acquaintance." This last comment he made with a little bow of his head.

Andria hardly knew what to say. She knew this couldn't be a dragon. If there were dragons of this size then Skyrim was doomed. Yet on the flip side it hadn't killed her, in fact it was being friendly. Could it be confuse, like it just woke up and forgot what it was? How should she respond? So she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"Hello…My name is Andria," she said shakily.

Suddenly there was a sound of trampling feet behind her. She turned to see Garver and Slathous running down the hill, taking the creature's occupation with her as a chance for escape. They left her to fend for herself. She expected the creature to rush after them – almost hoping it would – but it only sat there watching them flee. When they were out of sight it turned back to her. "Oh gods, what was it going to do to her?" she thought.

"Oh, I guess they were afraid after all," Temeraire said disapprovingly. "Not you though, why?"

"I figured there was no way I could outrun you," she said honestly.

"That actually true, I never thought of it like that. Now that you mention it there is no reason for anyone to have run away if I had meant them any harm," the dragon said. "But people still do it, no mater how much I try to convince them."

"Well," Andria said, feeling a little more relaxed, "have you seen what you look like? I think even the most battle harden would go pale seeing you. And those two milkdrinkers you sent running are hardly battle hardened."

"Then, since you have stayed, perhaps you can help me. This may sound a little crazy but where exactly am I?"

"Where are you?" she asked, realizing that she may have not been far off with this beast forgetting who it was. Hopefully it wouldn't remember and suddenly start killing. "You are in Skyrim, just south of Winterhold."

"Skyrim? I have never heard of that town. Is it in England? I know it must be in England, that is a silly question, of course it is in England," it said, fumbling over its strange words. "But that wouldn't account for all the snow. We couldn't possibly be in Scotland, could we?"

"I haven't heard of England, or Scotland," she said. "And Skyrim isn't a town, it's a country."

"You haven't heard of England? Well, what about France, how close to France are we?" the creature said, now sounding uncertain. "Or are we even in Europe anymore? Have you heard of China, or Africa, Russia, Ottoman Empire, Australia, America?!"

Every time it named a new place she would shake her head no, and it would keep raising its voice until it was nearly shouting the last names. She wanted to flee but her originally reasoning kept her in place.

It dropped its head to the snow, panting. "What has the darkness done to me," it said to itself. "Where am I that no one knows any place of the world." It looked back at her. "Could you be mistaken? Maybe you call the places other names? Surely you know of the war in Europe."

"No, and I am sure I know the names of the places in the world. The only war I know of is the Empire invading Skyrim. What do you mean by darkness?"

"I…I don't exactly know. I was flying a patrol over the Chanel when suddenly there was this great noise, and I felt quite queer and some other strange things happened, and then everything went black. Then I was in this dark cold place, where I couldn't feel or move, or even think. It is hard to really describe. But eventually…I don't really know how, but I woke up in the snow," it finished. "You probably think me crazy."

Out of all the things to think of this encounter, crazy was one way Andria would describe it. She hadn't understood the creature's ramblings, and she latched onto the one thing that stood out to her. "Patrol? You have to patrol?"

"Why yes, that is one of the duties of being a solder. Quite boring but it must be done."

She stared up at it again, dumbfounded for the second time today. If this was just a soldier, she hopped she would never meet its master. It tilted its head, as if wondering why she was suddenly staring.

"Its just surprising to think of something like you doing something as mundane as patrolling. I was actually on a patrol of my own before you came along."

"Oh, well I am sorry for interrupting it. No I do have to patrol, else the French would send over their own dragons to invade England."

"Wait, you have dragon countries?" Andria asked, wondering just how many more dragons there were out there.

"No, of course not. There are no dragon countries that I know of. Well, China has a lot of dragons in it and they are equal to humans, and I guess the feral in the mountains would think of themselves as dragon countries. But no England is a human country, but we live in it and fight for the Government there, even though they are often rude and wouldn't give us rights."

"Wait, are you saying you fight for humans?" she exclaimed, completely past being surprised.

"Of course, don't you have your own dragons in your country?"

"We have dragons, yes," she replied, "but they don't fight for us. In fact they are trying to destroy us. And they are much smaller than you."

"Really?" it – Temeraire – said surprised. "None are friendly?"

"No, none that I've heard of. In fact dragons use to be only a thing of legends till now." Then she suddenly realized the potential here. "Are you saying that you help humans in battle? What did they need to do gain your loyalty?"

"Well, not much, at least in the beginning. Its changed now, but I use to only fight for England because of Laurence. He is my captain and…" it started, and then suddenly its eyes grew wide with alarm. "Laurence!" it cried looking around, "Laurence where are you!" The entire hill shook as it raised its head up, a long serpentine neck following it.

"Wait, what's wrong? Who is Laurence…?" she started to ask but Temeraire cut her off.

"I need to stand up. Pray get off of me, I don't want to bury you when I do."

She looked down and saw that his movements had shifted the snow at her feet, reviling black scales beneath it. She looked back up, suddenly realizing that the dragon was not sitting on a hill, it WAS the hill. She quickly ran down its side till she was again on level ground. In a rush the dragon shot up and out of the snow, then stood where the hill once was. She had seen by the size of it head and knew that it had to be big, but even with that expectation she was unprepared for the actual size of the creature. "You could fit an entire company on its back with room to spare," she thought to herself.

Temeraire, after checking his back, started sifting though the snow he had just pushed out of, calling that name again and again.

"Have you seen anyone around here Andria? Quick help me look. He has to be close by; he was on my back last I saw. I hope I didn't leave him in the darkness. Oh where could he be?!"

The dragon had abandoned his search through the snow and was now moving around the clearing looking at the ground.

"Um, I'm sorry, but who are you looking for?" she asked, resisting the urge to flinch when the blue eyes fell on her again.

"Laurence, my captain. Help me look. He is tall and has golden hair, with a brown coat on last I saw him. I have to find him. I am sure he is around close by."

"What makes you think that?" she asked, worried. If someone had such control over this creature she didn't exactly want to meet him. "Is he a human?"

"Of course he is a human, what else could he be? And he has to be around here."

"Why?" she asked, "I mean, if you don't remember how you came here, what's to say that your Laurence didn't end up somewhere else."

"That may be true, but now where am I to search if I don't even know where to begin. How big is this place?"

"Skyrim? It's pretty big, but maybe he's not here at all. What if he ended up in another country, or even in the ocean?" Then quickly amended when she saw this was not making the dragon happy. "Or he could be close by, and we'll find him in no time."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right."

She started to walk while staring at the ground, as if looking for a sign of this Laurence, while her mind raced. Should she run now? Or should she just keep walking and hope the dragon forgets about her? After all, how long was it going to stay friendly? Until it found its master, or if it failed that would that enrage it? She knew she needed to get out of here not just for her own sake but for Windhelm's too. They needed to be warned that there was a creature many times bigger than an ordinary dragon just a few miles outside its wall. She doubted her two cowardly companions' ability to fully describe the situation when they got back.

Then again, she couldn't help but feel like she was misjudging it. After all that it had said and how it had acted, it couldn't be just another mindless monster from Skyrim's wilds. In fact it certainly wasn't. Unless it was completely lying to her – and she couldn't think of a reason why such a powerful creature would waste time making up a story for her – it couldn't be from her world. It had to have come from Oblivion. But how? It seemed like it came unwilling or maybe it just forgot why it came. But beyond that there was also a kindness about the beast, almost a naivety about him. She needed to ask it more questions. Perhaps it didn't need to be their enemy.

She looked up at the sound of wings, faint but growing louder. In the sky she could see the silhouette of a dragon, or at least what she always assumed a dragon to look like, diving towards her.

"Um, Temeraire!" she called out, remembering his name, "Did you happen to have any dragon friends with you?"

But that question was answered when the dragon dropped down in front of her. This one certainly was from Skyrim. It fit the guard's description of a Frost Dragon perfectly, right down to it only having two back legs and two wings, unlike Temeraire's four legs and two wings. And in her case being familiar was a bad thing.

Its mouth curled into what she took to be a smile and said something in a strange tongue. Then it opened its mouth and unleashed its breath right at her.

Just as the deadly cold washed over her there was a flash of black talons and she when flying, landed in the snow, and passed out.


	7. Chapter 7

Eastmarch Hold near City of Windhelm – Skyrim

"Oww!" Temeraire hissed as his claw went numb.

He had looked up when the girl had first called his name and seen the dragon land before her, clearly aggressive. When it had put its head back in the way Iskierka does just before she sprays fire he knew negotiations would have to wait if he wanted to save Andria's life. He had knocked her away, expecting a blast of flame for his trouble, and was surprised with a blast of ice. "Whatever was that?" he cried while he backhanded the dragon with his nearly frozen claws.

The dragon yelped at the strike and jumped back, staring up at him. It was of a smaller middleweight size, but much more squat and muscular, quite unlike dragons he was use to who had longer necks, bodies, and tails. And to his surprise it had no front legs; presently it was holding its self up with its wings. It said something in a language Temeraire was not familiar with.

"Oh now you want to talk, instead of just jumping on people like they were a sheep," Temeraire snorted, still smarting his stinging claws. "Even the wildest ferial I know would talk before killing someone. But I'm afraid I don't speak your language so you are going to have to wait for me to learn it. Then I will tell you just what I think of such behavior from a dragon."

"What?" it said in an accent not dissimilar from some of the Scottish dragons Temeraire knew. "You are _dovah_ are you not? How do you not know _Dovahzul_?"

"Oh you speak English? Good, then you can tell me why you are just jumping on people who clearly are doing nothing to you? And if by 'dovah' you mean dragon, of course I am a dragon." Temeraire said exasperated. This was the second time today someone asked if he was a dragon.

"But you can not be. You may have wings, scales, and a tail, but you do not look like us. And you don't understand _Dovahzul_. No, you are not a dragon."

"I am so a dragon. Has it occurred to you that there are different breeds of dragons? I think it is quite strange for you to be breathing snow and be missing your front legs but you don't hear me saying you are not a dragon. But now I WILL question you being a dragon since you have been so rude first," Temeraire said, remembering a certain book Laurence had read to him about mythological creatures. "You are not a dragon, but rather a wyvern. Whoever would confuse you with a dragon clearly knows very little about either. But if you wish to call yourself a dragon I have no problem with that, only know that I won't put up with others asking if I AM a dragon."

The wyvern/dragon regarded him confused, then shook its head. "You are a strange creature but it does not matter. Even if you are not of the _dov_ you can still claim glory with us, for undoubtedly you have much strength that can be used for our ultimately victory. Others, even great humans during the ancient days, united as the strongest – the ones fit to rule. Now again our day has come to regain our rightful place above the slave species like the humans. The humans will once again serve us. Join us, swear allegiance to Alduin, and there shall be a place for you in this world."

Throughout its speech a growl had been building up in Temeraire's throat, though the other dragon had been oblivious to it. It finished and looked back at Temeraire, only then realizing his audience may have not been enamored as he thought. "Why, even Napoleon does not talk like that, or any dragon that I have ever heard of," Temeraire said just holding back his anger. "I have seen slaves before, poor wretches force from their homes to work for someone else. And those that are slavers only do it for money, not that I am saying that is right, but at least they have a reason. But you are saying ALL humans should be slaves, just because we are bigger? Well, now I know you are not a dragon, for even the most coldhearted creature would not try to enslave an entire world."

"What do you mean?" it replied, now angry itself. "What use are the humans, what defense do they have? A few know the Thum'm but those few would hardly stand in our way. Humans were made to serve us, after all, weren't you just fighting me over who got the prey?" At this he pointed to Andria some distance in the snow, having recovered and was standing up, shakily clutching her ax as she looked at the two dragons.

"Prey? Do you mean to eat her?!" Temeraire said, now truly disgusted. "I have heard stories of ferials eating people but I had never given them credence. Certainly I never thought I would be talking to one. And humans can defend themselves, for they can build quite cruel guns AND they have dragons like me who are loyal to them."

The other dragon's face changed from anger, to confusion, and finally a sneer. "You are as bad at the Traitor, worse even for you claim to be dovah. You serve the slaves? I have wasted enough time on such a pathetic creature. You may be large but you don't have the Thum'm. Die now and your human masters will follow soon."

With that it drew its head back, muttered something in its language, and released a stream of frost at Temeraire. "NO!" Andria screamed, fearing that Temeraire had misjudged his opponent and was about to die. She rushed forward, hoping to distract the frost dragon. But her efforts were unnecessary. Temeraire easily avoided the stream, jumped to the strange dragon's side, and slammed into him. The frost dragon, completely unexpecting the speed of such a large creature, flew backwards and slammed into a tree. Dazed, it looked up, just catching a glimpse of black scales as Temeraire closed the space between them and finished with a sweep of claws. The scales of the frost dragon, often able to stop swords, did little against the massive black talons. Temeraire jumped backwards to avoid any counterattack and stood still, hardly out of breath.

/

/

Felniir-Dein-Koraaviik, the frost dragon, righted itself slowly, still dizzy from the contact and looked at its wounds. Blood flowed freely from the wound and he realized that he was out matched here. But in the sky? The black one had wings but could he even get off the ground with so much weight? He gritted his teeth against the pain and launched himself into the air, hoping to tempt the black one up so he could slam down on top of him. He flew up and then looked down, expecting to see it just lifting off, and was surprised to see it already next to him. He gave a startled cry and tried to pull away from reaching claws. He thought he'd avoided the surprise attack but, like before, the giant creature moved much faster than his size hinted at. Two quick slashes to his right flank and it pulled away, unnecessarily since Felniir could barely turn around in the time the creature had attacked and retreated.

Felniir, realizing that he would need speed, turned midair in a risky move that if he had timed it wrong would fowl his wings and send him to the ground. It paid off, though not without a substantial amount of pain from his bleed sides from the sudden movement, and he faced his attacker, shouting frost as he did.

But again, with quickness no dragon should ever have, it dived out of the way, flew under him cutting his belly as it went, and corkscrewed around behind him. Without breaking pace it put its claws into his exposed back and tore away chunks of flesh. Felniir turned again, almost pivoting in the creature's claws; no longer trying to attack, only trying to stay facing his opponent. He had lost, but he could not run: the black one already proven it could outfly him so escape wasn't an option. Even without the Thum'm the creature had outmatched him in everyway…except one.

Realization dawned on Felniir. While he probably would die there was still a weakness that he could exploit. The human that it had been protecting. He could kill it and claim a hollow victory, or he may even capture it and force the creature to leave. He didn't know how far it's loyalties went for the human, but it did say that it served humans.

Thought and action were one and he dived for the mortal still standing in the snow, axe at her side as she watched the aerial battle. As she saw him diving towards her she desperately tried to raise her axe, though he would reach her before it was even half up. But just as his teeth reached for her he was suddenly wrenched away and flung backwards into the snow, his breath knocked out.

Felniir, again, righted himself and looked up. The black one had landed between him and the human, still hardly breathing. Could it even dive than him?

He could always try surrendering. No, not to such a pathetic creature. With the last of his strength he rushed forward, determined to score at least one hit before he died.

When he saw still several lengths away he saw the black one breathe in and suddenly roar at him. At least he thought it was a roar, for it was louder than anything he had heard before. A massive wave of air and kicked up snow came thundering towards him, carried by the unnatural force. It may not be able to Shout but it had a Voice nonetheless. The wave reached him, breaking every bone in his body, crushing his head into his chest, and burying his lifeless corpse under the snow.

/

/

Forest East of Whiterun - Skyrim

"Captain Laurence! Captain Laurence!" a voice was shouting, cutting through the dark.

Laurence came to, sitting up quickly, and then imminently regretted his urgency. His head was pounding as if with fever and sitting up only made it worse.

"Laurence are you ok?" Someone was next to him – Granby, Laurence's tired mind told him – trying to help him up.

"No, let me stay down for a few moments," Laurence said, "I feel like I just died. I must have passed out or something, and I was having such strange dreams. Is Temeraire all right? I suppose he was worried. I hope I'm not sick."

"Actually it happened to me too" Granby replied. "I just woke up a few minutes ago and I don't know where the dragons have gone off to."

"What? Do you suppose we both passed out and they went to get help?"

"Why would we both pass out at the same time? And besides they wouldn't leave us in the middle of an empty road, they would take us back to camp, or at least have one of them stay to guard us.

Laurence looked around. They were indeed on a road small road inside a forest. A small dirt track veered off the main road going deeper into the woods. He looked at the sky and noticed something. "Granby, I might be going crazy but do you remember any mountains nearby where we were flying?"

All around them were mountains. "Bloody hell, even Scotland doesn't have so many high peaks. Did we happen to fly all they way to the Alps?"

"I don't know, but look at the size of that one." Laurence said pointing. Even on his trip over the Turkish mountain range he never saw a mountain that large. The peak seemed to reach all the way past the sky, the top shrouded in clouds. "I might have to agree with you Granby that we are not in England anymore."

"What? I wasn't saying that! How could we not be in England? Where do you suppose Temeraire and Iskiraka could have taken us?

"John, calm down. There is no use standing around yelling and getting cold. The dragons won't be able to find us in the woods anyway. Lets start walking and find someone to ask. Which direction should we go?"

"I think we should start with this side road," Granby said, pointing to the dirt track. "It looks like it might lead to a house or something. We have swords and gold, so whoever we meet we are prepared for."

Laurence, wishing he had his dragon instead of just his sword, followed Granby up the track. Eventually dirt gave way to pavement and they arrived at large stone structure built into the side of a cliff. Large pillars held up sloping arches with strange stone carvings of dragon heads and symbols lined the tops, giving Laurence a more sinister feeling than the normally unease old ruins might give a man. There was something evil about this place.

"Wow, those don't look like anything the Romans build, although I assume that we have decided that we are not in England, so finding strange ruins should be expected," Granby said dryly. "But maybe we stumbled upon whichever country-that-we-landed-in's Arial corps . After all, we use ruins like Lock Lagoon in Britain for our dragons, why not here. I expect we will either be taken prisoner or given a warm meal, depending one whose side they are on."

"I think you are being a bit over-optimistic John. With our luck I doubt we will find friend or enemy in there. Likely a cold, forgotten place just waiting to cave in on top of us. Let's head back to the road and hope to find a town."

"Well not forgotten by everyone, look over there."

They had come a little closer and a small campsite had come into view. Someone appeared to be huddled under a small lean-to next to a snow covered fireplace.

"Ahoy the camp!" Granby called. There was no response.

"We are not looking for trouble, do you mind if we come over?" Again nothing. They began to walk over, calling out their intentions for peace. When they arrived Laurence reached down to shake the figure, and pulled back with a startled yelp. The figure was dead, the cold and snow already having worked into the corpse. The cause of death was apparent, a large rusty sword had been thrust into the chest; the frozen blood had seeped out and pooled on the ground. But that had not caused Laurence and Granby to jump back. A dead body would not have been a significant event for soldiers, no, its Laurence's shake that cause a hood covering its head to fall away, revealing its face.

It was not a human.

"What in…" Granby started, then seemed unable to finish. From afar it looked human enough, a body covered in a leather suit, normally proportioned legs and arms and even its head when it was covered looked perfectly normal. When the hood fell away there was no mistaking it for a human though. Its entire head was covered in fur, not a long beard and hair, but fur, with unnatural stripes and coloring crisscrossing its face. Its nose and mouth were one and unnaturally stuck out like a horse, although not nearly as elongated. And to top it off its ears weren't on the sides but rather stuck up on its head like a cat's. In fact, the longer Laurence looked at it, it looked more and more like a cat, or at least a cat's head stuck on the body of a man.

They both stood there for several moments breathing heavily, trying to get over their shock and willing their eyes to show them a picture that made sense. But alas, the cat person continued to lay in the snow, unchanging.

"Well, that's unusual," Granby eventually muttered. "Well Laurence that does it, I say we are not in England anymore. I say likely America or possibly Hell, for that is the only two places that might have something like that fellow."

Laurence, not as ready to accept the creature before him, knelt down and pulled at the face. It was real enough, and further examination showed that the rest of the body was covered in the same cat like fur and texture. Removing the gloves showed feline claws and turning over the body produced a cat's tail. What made scene even creepier was, besides the cat, everything seemed normal. The leather armor, for it was clearly reinforces for battle, would have suited any aviator and an assortment of food, gold coins, a dagger, a bow with arrows, some dubious bottles of liquid, and a large medieval sword all pointed to a normal human hunter's camp. Yet the cat was anything but normal.

"Well Laurence I would say we are lucky to find this store of supplies and say God bless ye to this poor soul who left us it, but clearly that is not the case. In fact I don't know if we should bury him with a Christian burial or cook him up in the stew pot. Is he an animal or not?"

"Clearly more than an animal judging by the camp, but beyond that I don't know. Hopefully we won't see any live ones, but if we do at least we will be prepared. If they are this advanced then they might be civilized enough not to attack us on the spot. Lets head back to the road and hope we find a human to talk to."

"I'd be happy with a feral dragon to talk to right now, at least it will be more normal that this fellow."

They stood up to go when suddenly they heard a twig snap. They stood still, listening. Over the whistling of the wind they heard a slight growing noise and sound of someone walking unsteadily through the snow. A few quick steps followed by a few slow shuffling one, but clearly growing closer.

"Laurence," Granby whispered, "I don't suppose you noticed that large sword sticking out of our cat friend. I think whoever put it there is coming back."

With that a figure came around one of the pillars of the structure, and this time Granby was the one to scream. While the cat was strange, this thing was an abomination out of Hell. It might have once been a man, yet now it looked like a body that had lain on a battlefield for several days. It was covered in black, dirty armor, with rotting flesh showing on its exposed limbs. In its gnarled hands, where bone could be seen sticking out in several places, was grasped a sword just like the one stuck in the cat. As it came into view the smell of rotting meat reached the duo, but the shock of what was clearly a dead body walking didn't even let them gag. The head, covered in a metal helmet, slowly lifted up until it was looking at them. The face, stretched across its scull and handing off in places was a gray, dead color. But its eyes, its eyes blazed with an unholy blue light, filling the dead eye sockets with unnaturally liveliness. It was a living dead.

It shuffled towards them, rusty chain mail clanking against metal plates of armor. It opened a rotting mouth and let loose a piercing shriek, one so afflicted that no living person could possibly have made.

Laurence felt frozen with fear, even the years of combat training didn't snap him out of the trace he felt as the thing lumbered towards them with its rusting sword held high. Granby seemed to be in a similar situation.

From behind them and to the left came *thwack* sound and an arrow came whizzing into view, striking the demon in the chest. It didn't grunt, but instead turned to the source of the attack to howl again. It was rewarded with another arrow, this time imbedding itself in its open mouth. The creature was cut off mid-shriek, coughed once, and fell over. The blue light slowly faded from its eyes until it looked like any other corpse lying in the snow. Laurence and Granby were still standing there, though the arrival of the arrow loosened their fear enough to allow them to draw swords.

"You were planning on killing that dragur weren't you?" a voice said from the direction of the arrow. The two aviators, now in control of themselves enough to switch into a combat mind, turned to the source with swords held high.

"Now you get aggressive after its already dead" a man said, stepping out of the brush near the road, a bow in hand. "What's more pointing swords at your savior. I don't know what's worse, your survival instincts or your manners."

"Wha….What was that?" Laurence managed to breath out.

"Oh, first time exploring a burial tomb? I felt the same way too first time I went into one, though I pushed through it and didn't need anyone to rescue me," the man said dryly.

"But…what…is?"

"It's a dragur. One of our ancestors who decided that he didn't want to stay dead. Something about an ancient curse for serving the dragons or something. I didn't really pay attention when – oh what was his name – the Whiterun mage was telling me about them. Suffice to say they are not friendly."

Laurence stared at the man, wondering if he was still in shock, since none of the words he was saying made sense. Then again, nothing up to that point made sense. In less than twenty minutes they had woken up in land they didn't recognize, found a human that wasn't a human, a dead body that wasn't dead, and now this stranger in what appeared to be a suit of armor. Laurence realized the undead had also been wearing metal armor, but that had been a minor detail compared with the walking corpse part. But this fellow had a large metal chest plate, armored leggings, a large flat sword slung at his waist (unlike the more practical saber that was in Laurence's hand), and a metal helm with two horns sticking out. Laurence hoped the horns were only cosmetic attachments for the helm, and not actually part of the man's head. Why was he wearing this suit? Didn't he know the time of knights and armor was over?

The man also seemed to think something about them. "Who are you?" he asked.

Laurence, this question making sense, answered automatically, "Captain Laurence on Temeraire, this is Captain Granby on Iskierka." He stopped himself from saying they were part of the English Corps, at least until he knew where the man's loyalties lay, but letting him know that he was a captain should grant them an audience with whatever ruling authority was nearby. "Tell me sir, where are we, and what are its loyalties in the war?"

"What?" the man answered, now looking as confused at Laurence felt. "You're in Skyrim, and you should know as well as anyone that loyalties are in dispute right now, you being captains and all. Are you Empire or Stormcloak captains?"

"I'm afraid of never heard any of those names before. Have you Granby?"

"Skyrim? I have not. We are English captains. Do you know where England is?" Clearly the war in Europe was not a concern for this strange man. As if they needed anymore evidence that they were not in England anymore.

"I have not heard of this England, although I wouldn't know much outside of Skyrim. You might want to ask around Whiterun, someone there would know more than me. I am heading there myself after I finish up here if you whish to stick with me, though for the love of the divines would you conjure up some combat sense."

How could they have gone so far from England? Those hours spend in that dark place might not have been simple unconscious; something else was at work here. They needed to find someone who could explain it, or at the very least someone who might have seen their dragons. Though it was selfish, Laurence hoped Temeraire was trapped here too, at least the situation wouldn't feel so helpless if he wasn't alone. Then again, he wasn't alone, he had Granby; and now this stranger was offering help as well.

"Tell me sir, what is your name?"

"My name? Hmmmmm, my name. I don't feel like I have a name. I have plenty of titles people call me." He thought for a few seconds.

"Just call me Dovahkiin."

/

/

 **I felt like I was committing some sort of lore heresy when Temeraire said, "you speak English" but there is a certain point where xovers must have these sorts of problems. Of course they are from different worlds and the "English" we hear in Skyrim is not English at all, but, meh…**

 **Also, I had two little jabs at Bethesda in this segment. The first is them mistaking a wyvern for a dragon (I am always low key annoyed whenever someone is talking about a skyrim "dragon"). The other is how clumsy, weak, and slow they made their dragons. They are supposed to be the harbingers of the end times yet I've had more interesting fights with town guards. I don't know what Bethesda was thinking. Maybe Alduin or even a legendary dragon might be more of a match for our Temeraire.**

 **Felniir is a made up dragon fyi.**


End file.
